Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 219

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CCXIX IN A VOLUME OF AUSTIN DOBSON
The faded perfume of forgotten years, The scent of withered rose-leaves sweetly faint, Old-world imaginations, fancies quaint,And fun just dancing on the edge of tears;
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A boy's delight, a little maiden's fears, A heroine of the days of patch and paint, The gentle visions of an old French saint,The treachery that repels not but endears.

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